Bullies or, How to Fall in Love in 7 Easy Steps
by Lynzee005
Summary: Written for the MTT challenge "Jim to the Rescue". Jim rescues Pam from awkward situations at different points in their lives, from grade school through the present day. Alternate Universe **COMPLETE**
1. On the Playground

**Here's fun little story I dreamed up for the MTT challenge "Jim to the Rescue". Each chapter will be a vignette completely disconnected from the events of the previous chapter -- an Office alternate multiverse, if you will, with (eventually) seven different membranes coexisting nicely along side one another without intersection. In this membrane, Michael and Dwight are the same age as Pam and Jim. I thought it would be cute, but it requires a suspension of disbelief. I hope you enjoy it!! :)**

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Jim got a new truck for his birthday, a nice yellow Tonka truck, and he carries it with him everywhere. When he gets up in the morning, he plays with it in front of the TV while he eats his breakfast, and some nights he sneaks it into his room and sets it under his blankets, even though he knows his mom will get mad the next morning when she makes his bed and finds sand and dirt collecting in the folds of his fitted sheet. If she would let him take it to school with him, he would do that too, but instead he leaves it on the picnic table in the backyard next to the sandbox and waves goodbye to it like it's real and will miss him when he's gone.

Jim loves his truck.

So on the first weekend in July, just days after school has let out for the summer, Jim proudly marches his truck to the playground in the school yard down the block from his house, sits down in the sand, and sets about creating a summer full of sunrise to sunset memories with the best present a six-year-old boy could ever receive.

He doesn't really notice the crimpy-haired girl swinging on the swings, in the hot pink jersey dress, with the black bow in her hair and wearing striped stockings and her sister's bangles and hoop earrings because the Madonna look is _so in _right now, until the other boys start to tease her. He recognizes some of them from school, but wonders how they know _her _because she was not in Jim's grade one class and he'd never seen before anywhere else.

He looks at her, feeling a strange sensation that his mom calls "empathy" when he sees her pretty face with her eyes downcast as she swings. One of the boys – his name is Michael and he used to sit behind Jim in class – is kicking sand absently towards the swing set, missing the pretty girl entirely, but it still makes Jim mad. Another boy, who for some reason completely idolizes Michael – his name is Dwight – is laughing and pointing at the girl. Jim hears them now; they are making fun of her name.

"Pam Beesly," Michael says with a laugh. "Sounds like Spam Beeswax."

"Yeah, Spam Spam Spam," Dwight echoes.

"Does Spam Beeswax like ham?" Michael asks.

"Green eggs and ham?" Dwight thinks he's being clever. "From a can?"

Jim stands up, not even really sure why, and grabs his truck before marching across the sand to where the boys are standing. The girl – _Pam Beesly_, he rolls the name over in his mouth and it reminds him of red jellybeans – looks up and him and blushes before looking back down at her lap as she continues to swing alone.

Jim reaches the group. "You're not being nice." Jim was good at stating the obvious.

"We're just having fun," Michael said.

"Yeah, just having fun."

Jim frowned, "Well I don't think _Pam_ is having fun."

"Maybe she's laughing inside," Michael offered.

Jim remembered that Michael wasn't the brightest kid in class. He took a deep breath and furrowed his brow. "I don't think so. Stop being mean."

Michael laughed. "Not unless you stop… being dumb."

Jim took one more step closer, lifted his arm, and threw his favourite truck down into the sand, where it landed on Michael's foot. Jim didn't like being mean, but he felt that it was the right thing to do, even if he hadn't meant for it to hit the stupid boy's foot at all. If Jim knew what the word "resolute" meant, he would have been able to describe how he felt as he walked over to the swings and smiled at the girl. She jumped off the swings and landed at his side, and with all the innocence of childhood – that is, if she knew what "innocence" meant – slipped her hand inside his.

"My name's Pam. What's yours?" she asked.

"Jim Halpert," he smiled. She smiled back. They left Michael crying in the sand while Dwight fretted over whether Michael's toe was broken. Jim didn't bother to pick up his truck; he just held his arm straight and stiff as a plank while the girl with the pink dress and the Madonna accessories with the red jellybean name laced her fingers through his. He wondered if this meant he had a girlfriend.

That night, Jim went to bed feeling older and wiser because he'd gotten to hold a pretty girl's hand. A few blocks away, Pam stayed up and told her sister that one day she was going to marry Jim Halpert.


	2. On the Fieldtrip

**A/N: So here we go again... remember, we're pretending that some of the Office gang knew each other back in the day. This time, they're in grade five. It's cute, it's fluffy... it's JAM in 1989!!**

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Jim thinks he's the only person in his class who is eager to see the United Nations building. He eats his lunch with Mark near a fountain in Central Park, and he can't stop talking about it. Even their grade five teacher, who is lounging on the grass with some of the other students a few yards away, isn't this excited to see it. But then again, Jim rationalizes, she's been here before. He practically vibrates as he perches on the rock wall, eating his ham and cheese sandwich.

Across the plaza, the parents volunteers have organized a game of Red Rover for the students who have finished eating. It's one of Mark's favourite games. He gulps down the last of his Coke and leaps from the fountain's edge. "You comin' Halpert?"

"In a sec," Jim replies through his mouthful. He doesn't really want to play, but Mark is his best friend. And, there's the long shot chance that he might get to hold Pam Beesly's hand like last week in gym class. That time, she and Jim had managed to hold back Bruce Melnyk, the biggest boy in class. As one of two heroes of the hour, Jim felt almost as good in the glow of admiration as he did the moment she slipped her small hand into his and squeezed tight, telling him to hold on.

The very moment he begins shoving the rest of his lunch back into the lunch bag, as if he willed it to happen, Pam walks by with a group of kids from class. She smiles up at him and waves a little, and Jim feels his heart leap into his throat and he stops breathing. He's only ten, but he's pretty sure that love is supposed to feel like being winded; that, or like you've downed a whole bag of pop rocks and they're tickling you from the inside as they fall into your stomach. _Pop Rock Pam_, Jim smiles as he waves back at her.

"Do you like my new earrings?" she asks him, stopping for a second and lifting up a section of her crimped hair to show Jim the star studs implanted in her earlobes. It was one girl custom Jim didn't understand, but he smiled and nodded anyway.

"They're nice," he says.

"They're like Jem's," Pam says with a flip of her hair. "She's totally boss."

Jim wondered why so many girls liked a silly after school cartoon so much. But he had to admit that the little stars in her ears _were_ nice, even if the practice of poking holes in one's flesh was barbaric (_At best_, he reasoned).

But he didn't have much chance to ruminate on the subject. Ryan had been stealthily sneaking up on Pam from behind and was suddenly - rudely - snapping her bra strap. With a loud "_Thwack!_", the strap hits Pam square between the shoulder blades. She shrieks and spins around to face him, but he and his friends are all laughing uncontrollably. She presses her hand against her back at an awkward angle, and rubs her fingers along the spot where she'd been hit.

Jim watches as Pam's face goes from angry to sad in a split second. He probably would have laughed if it had been anyone else's bra – when Ryan was snapping Kelly's bra strap the week before, it had been so hilarious he had almost peed his pants laughing one recess. Kelly had been cool with it because she thought it meant that Ryan liked her, but neither Jim nor any of the other guys could really figure out why she'd think that.

But now that Ryan had moved on to Pam as the sole object of his attention, it wasn't funny in the least. It doesn't help that Pam looks so embarrassed by the whole thing, or that all of Ryan's buddies are starting to laugh even harder because of it

Jim grabs his lunch bag and hops off the wall. "Knock it off."

Ryan was incredulous. "Sorry Jim, I didn't know Pam was your _girlfriend!_"

He'd said it like it was a bad thing. Jim smiles inside even as his face turns red in anger for Pam's embarrassment. Still, Ryan and his crew leave, and Pam and Jim stand alone by the fountain. Jim realizes that he feels brave, although he doesn't know what he did to bring anything favourable about.

"Sorry about that," he says to her finally.

"It's not your fault," she shifts a little, "I just don't like people knowing that… well… you know."

He thinks she means that she wants her bra-wearing to remain a secret, and he decides then and there that girls are weird. Still, he likes Pam enough to overlook it.

"Thanks for the save anyway," she nods. "I guess I owe you one."

"Let's forget about it," Jim says. "Ryan's a dork."

"Yeah," she brushes her hair behind her ear, "You know, I'm getting a little excited for this U.N. thing. How about you?"

Jim hears her words and smiles, wondering if love can also feel like a warm summer day in the middle of Central Park, with a belly full of ham and cheese sandwich, standing next to the prettiest Jem wannabe on his side of the Mississippi.

After a moment of wondering, Pam smiles, and Jim knows: absolutely, it can.


	3. In the Library

**A/N: Junior High now... not sure how grade nine works in some places, but from my experience, junior high is grades 7-9, so that's where they're at; specifically, grade 9. In a dark library. Oh the places you'll go... ;)**

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The halls are deathly silent as Jim walks the length of one towards his locker. He knows he shouldn't be in the hallway at all, at least not without a hall pass, but the substitute teacher in math class was a nimrod and he had a spare next class anyway, so he figured he'd skip out early and head to the arcade for a while before lunch. Stepping softly – his shoes are terribly squeaky – Jim finally makes it to his locker. The bell rings just as he pulls on the base to disengage the lock, and as the hallways fill up with six hundred junior high bodies crashing and smashing into one another, Jim smiles to himself for a job well done and grabs his coat, knowing he is free and clear.

He hears her crying before he sees her standing next to him. She is absently twirling the lock dial, and swipes at her eyes in anger when it won't open for her. Jim turns to look at her, concern written all over his face.

"Pam?" he asks.

She sniffles. Says nothing.

He tries again. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" she says, "I'm fine!"

"No you're not," Jim leans his lanky fourteen year-old body against the door of his locker. "Spill it, Beesly." It's only recently that they've been on a last-name basis with one another. He likes it. It feels familiar.

Pam huffs and lets her shoulders drop. She is silent for a long moment before she lifts her hand and digs around for her binder. "Jim, do you know that I like to paint?"

Jim is genuinely surprised. He smiles at Pam, "I had no idea."

"Well, I do. And I like it. And even though I'm not very good yet, I'd like to keep painting."

"So do it." It seems simple enough.

"But everyone makes fun of me."

Jim sighs and realizes how terribly un-simple it really is. "At least they don't call you Dumbo," he says, lifting up the fringes of his hair to reveal his protruding ears.

Pam smiles. It's all Jim wanted, anyhow. "Yeah, but your head will grow… or something…," she giggles a little and shifts her weight.

He puts his hand on her shoulder and she looks at him. "Tell me what happened, Pam."

She sighs again. "I did this painting to go along with my English project. A stupid book report on _The Outsiders_."

"Great book," Jim flashes Pam a thumbs up and she laughs, flashing him with her braces.

"Well… I get up in front of everyone to show them what I'd done…," she shrugs, "It was just a silly painting of the sunrise to go along with that line, 'Stay gold, Ponyboy,' or whatever… and I put gold paint and sparkles on it. I was pretty proud of it… and the teacher liked it… but then these girls started making fun of me, calling me teacher's pet and saying that the sparkles looked tacky."

Jim is silent; he can see that Pam is almost ready to cry again. "I'm sure those girls are the tacky ones," he offers.

"They ARE!" Pam insists before collapsing into herself again, "But it sucks all the same."

Jim smiles, "Wanna skip fourth period and go to the arcade with me?"

Pam shakes her head, "I don't feel like company right now. Thanks anyway."

Jim frowns. He knows he should stay with Pam because she seems pretty down. He knows that junior high bullies are the worst, especially when they're girls, because girls use psychological warfare on their enemies rather than their fists, and at this point Jim doesn't know which would be the better option. But he also knows how badly he's wanted to play Street Fighter all day long, and he has a pocketful of quarters just waiting to be spent.

But then Pam blinks and a tear falls through her interlaced lashes to land on her shirt sleeve, and Jim's decision is made. "Come on, Beesly. I wanna show you something."

He takes off down the hallway towards the library just around the corner. Pam is close behind, and they both try to avoid being knocked over by the crowds still rushing to get to class.

They reach the library door and duck into the alcove. Pulling a key out of his pocket, Jim grins. Pam's jaw drops. "Where did you get that?" she hisses.

"My math sub," he says, rolling his eyes as he unlocks the library door. The librarian has been away all week, and the library has been closed to students unless accompanied by a teacher. They are most definitely not accompanied by a teacher, so they opt to leave the lights off. Jim relocks the door and closes it behind it; it whooshes and closes with a click.

"Come on," he says, "Don't fall behind."

The bell rings, and the hallway din dies down. Jim can feel Pam near him; her flat ballet shoes pad softly across the tile floor as she follows. It is so quiet. Pam slips her hand into Jim's without warning, and he's frightened at first but soon his hand is tingling from the contact. They round another corner and Jim stops.

"What is it?" Pam asks.

"What is what?" Jim replies.

"What did you want to show me?"

Jim shrugs, "The library, of course." He gestures to the stacks, "These, Pamela, are called 'bookshelves', and these weighty tomes are commonly referred to as 'books'… ."

Pam smacks him across the shoulder and he laughs. "I'm not an idiot, Jim."

"Well I just wanted you to laugh and forget those mean girls in your class."

She smiles and looks down. "Do you come here often?" she asks, her voice muffled as the sound sinks into the cloth and leather that surround her.

"Once in a while," Jim says. He is on the other side of the shelf now, peering at her through an opening between books. He's not really lying; he wouldn't openly admit to everyone that he likes the library, and sometimes he really hates it in there. And even though he's more than a little embarrassed to admit the real reason why he goes to the library on occasion, he tells her anyway. "Sometimes I try and find the oldest book in the collection, just for kicks."

"Have you found it?" Pam asks. She sounds genuinely intrigued, and Jim flirts with the idea that maybe he's not so much of a nerd after all.

"I don't know. Every time I think I have, I go back and find another one that pre-dates it by a few years."

"What's the oldest you've found so far?"

"A copy of _The Wizard of Oz_ from 1935," Jim announces proudly.

Pam lets out a low whistle, "That's gonna be tough to beat."

"Are you taking up the torch, my friend?"

"It appears I am," she says, scanning the shelves in the dark for the oldest looking tome. Jim laughs and begins searching on the other side. After a few minutes, they both have a few old books resting in their arms. They meet against the end of the 200s section, next to a prominent display about Greek mythology. Jim pretends to not be distracted by the voluptuous image of Aphrodite on her clam shell.

"What have you got?" he asks.

Pam is already deep inside her books, "1943… 1955… you?"

"1945… 1940… 1962?" he laughs, "I guess some books show their age more than others!"

"Guess so," Pam says as she flips the pages in the book in her hands. Suddenly she lets out an excited squeal, "Ooh! Look! 1932! Beat that, Halpert!"

He bows low, graciously. "Well done, Beesly. Well done."

Pam is still reading the page, "There's an inscription here."

Jim moves to stand next to her. "What does it say?"

"It's hard to tell. It's in pencil." Pam clears her throat, "_To Hannah. All the pleasure you seek shall be found within the pages of a good book. With love, Albert_."

"Neat," Jim says. He would have said more, but he's standing so close he can smell her shampoo and the scent is intoxicating.

"I wonder if they're still alive… ." Pam trails off.

"Who?" Jim asks to be polite; he doesn't really hear a word she's saying, and as long as Pam is standing this close to him, he won't care either.

"Hannah and Albert." Pam traces her fingers over the inscription, feeling the words, and Jim is sure he's never been more in love with her than that moment. "I wonder if they were in love."

"It says 'With love' doesn't it?" he breathes in and out, watching the way her hair dances in the diffused sunlight of the darkened library, like strands of copper.

"Yeah, but just loving someone is different than being _in love_, right?"

Jim didn't know. Whatever it was, he was sure he felt it, and it made him light-headed.

"I wonder if they got married… had kids… maybe they still live in Scranton."

Pam turned to face him, and found that they were standing so close to one another they almost bumped heads. She moves to back away and Jim reaches out to hold her there, just right, standing in front of him with just enough room between that they can feel the warmth of the other's body. He is gentle as he holds her shoulders, brushes his hands down her arms and letting go of her at the wrist. Pam looked up into Jim's eyes.

"Hey," he intones.

"Hey."

He gulps. The air is charged between them. It's hard to get a breath in. Her pinky finger brushes his hand and he shivers. Before he realizes it, she's kissing him and has her pinky locked around his. He kisses her back, squeezes her finger in his, feels energy spark wherever they touch. Just lips. He keeps one eye open just a little; he notices that she's kept hers closed. When she pulls away, it hurts; she lowers herself down off her tiptoes and licks her lips, and in the dim light, he's sure he sees her smiling. And suddenly, he's _very_ thankful for the library.


	4. At the Prom

**A/N: So this one is a bit longer than usual, coming in at just under 2400 words... but I wanted to write it and couldn't get it out of my head. Less about "Jim to the Rescue" and more about "Jim and Pam Gettin' it ON!" lol with a twist of course. Remember, it's AU... suspend disbelief... and enjoy!**

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Jim relaxes his shoulders and lets out the breath he's been keeping in since he can't remember when. He is outside; the air smells clean after the rainshower a few hours earlier, the one that made the girls in their poufy satin dresses squeal as they ran into the banquet hall. He leans against the wall, feels the coolness of it through his rented suit, and closes his eyes for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe.

Katy left an hour ago. She had been complaining of sore feet and a headache all night long, but Jim had barely paid her any notice. When she had told him she was taking a cab home, his protests were half-hearted. He walked her to the door but didn't go outside, and only watched her shape retreat into the darkness long enough to know that she was in the cab. He turned then and walked back into the hall, depressed and dejected, with his hands in his pockets and his head hung a little lower than usual, only to see Pam in the arms of that buffoon from the football team. _Why not?_ he had asked himself at the time, settling back into his seat and willing the water in his glass to turn into some kind of malt liquor instead. _Let's see how many more disappointments I can rack up tonight… ._

That was an hour ago. He'd had enough of the fake… _everything_ that went on inside the hall. Jim had only bought his ticket because he had planned on asking Pam to go as his date. But then she'd shown up at a party with Roy and everything went to shit. He met Katy in the mall and asked her to go with him on a whim a few weeks before the banquet – a retaliation, he told himself, designed to make Pam jealous even though all it really did was make him feel dumb – and the rest was history. He wondered if his and Pam's plan to attend Penn State in the fall together would hold up if she was still dating Roy, but Jim knew he couldn't stand the idea; he flirted with the idea of applying out-of-state.

Now, as he stands against the wall, the wet wall that will now probably cost him the damage deposit on his rented suit, he heaves another sigh and runs his hands through his hair. Enough with the dancing. Enough with the hugs and signing yearbooks and "see you laters". Jim decides it's high time he went home.

He is just about to go back inside and call his mom to ask her where she left the car in the parking lot when he hears a voice coming from behind some potted trees just down the wall from him. It's dark; he can't see much beyond what is immediately in front of him. He strains to hear the noise again, waiting just barely long enough for it to float out of the darkness more defined and clearly audible.

"No… stop it." A female voice, slightly pleading.

Jim has no idea what comes over him as he opens his mouth to form the words that come out next. "Hello?"

_What are you going to do, Halpert? This is probably something you shouldn't get mixed up in… ._

The voice comes across again. "Stop it. There's someone there."

Jim removes his hands from his pockets and walks over. The trees rustle a bit, and Jim is aware that there are two people behind the foliage wall.

He tries again. "Hello?"

Then, through a break in the trees, a hulking figure stumbles forward. His clothes are dishevelled and stained, and he smells heavily of alcohol. Jim wrinkles his nose at the offensive odour as the he man veers sharply to the left and takes off towards the parking lot without looking up.

Jim turns his attention back to the trees, where a second figure emerges from behind the greenery. He recognizes her slim-fitting champagne coloured dress, shimmering in what little light there was. She holds her heels in one hand by the straps, and her black clutch is secured under her arm, but when he sees her face, he knows she's either been crying or was caught in the rain; her hair is mussed up, loos tendrils falling in her face instead of secured behind her head where they were when he last saw her. He notices that the one strap of her dress is torn a little, and even in the dark, he can see smudgy handprints and finger smears circling Pam's waist and along her bustline.

He looks back out into the parking lot, recognizing the situation for what it was. He drops his mouth open a bit, searching for words.

"Jim, I know what you're going to say… ."

"And what's that, Pam?" Jim asks her softly.

"It wasn't what it looked like."

_Well it sure as hell wasn't Yahtzee,_ Jim thinks to himself. "What was Roy doing?"

"He was drunk," Pam offered. "He had very different ideas about how tonight was going to go."

"Clearly."

"Don't judge."

Jim raises an arm to point into the parking lot, disbelieving how upset he's able to get with such little provocation. "What was that then? What was he doing to you?"

Pam grimaced. "It's none of your business, Jim!" She shivers a little; Jim remembers that Pam had a shawl or a wrap or something on earlier in the evening. Whether she misplaced it or what, it's too cold for her to stand there bare shouldered. Jim shrugs off his suit coat and hand it to her, and she accepts it.

"Did he…?"

Pam looks up at him and he sees tears in her eyes as she shakes her head. He closes the gap between them and takes the jacket – she's still holding it in her hand – and surrounds her shoulders. He lets his hands rest on her arms for a moment before he sets about trying to fix some of the loose hair with bobby pins still clinging to her head. Slowly sweeping a strand across her temple then up and over her ear, he smoothes it down with his fingers before deftly securing it with a pin. He had a sister; he knew what he was doing, and knew too that women always felt better when they looked better.

"Much improved," he nodded when he was finished. Pam stops sniffling and manages a smile.

"Can you drive me home?" she asks. Jim nods, and they start off across the parking lot to find the car Jim's mom deposited after the banquet and which Jim is fairly sure he won't be able to find easily.

When Jim pulls up outside of Pam's house a half hour later, she is giddy and laughing. Jim is uneasy but doesn't let on. He's furious at Roy for getting drunk and trying to take advantage of the situation with Pam. He's mad at himself, too, for not sticking up for her more. But he consoles himself with the fact that he did end up taking Pam home that evening, and… .

Somehow Pam manoeuvres herself across the seats and is in Jim's lap, kissing him all over the face and neck and running her hands through his hair. She moans and suckles and Jim, while suddenly and very highly aroused, frees his hands from under her body and gently pushes her away.

"Pam… wow, Pam… what's going on?"

"Wanna come in?" she asks breathlessly. "My parents are gone for the weekend." She kisses him again, all tongue. Jim breaks free, turning his head to the side.

"Pam, I-I… ."

"Fine, let's do it here." She fishes through her clutch and pulls out a condom. Jim finds himself blushing. He's not a virgin, but he's pretty sure Pam is, making her brazenly sexual display both highly disturbing and erotic at the same time.

She traces a line of kisses down his chest while her hands wrestle with his belt. Jim lets one groan escape his lips as her palm flattens against his erection accidentally. He quickly regains control and, once again, nudges Pam away.

"Pam."

She looks up at him. "What?"

God, he wants her so badly he can taste it, and she's crouched over him and the feel of her hands on him is so electrifying and… .

"This can't be happening…," he mutters, grinding the heel of each hand into his eyes to try and wake himself up.

Pam's hands slow down and she brings them up to each side of his face. He removes his own hands and finds Pam kissing him gently on the mouth. He surprises himself by returning it, cupping her face in his hands and leaning forward into her and pushing her back towards the steering wheel. She moans against his lips, breaks the kiss, and Jim lets his head fall to the crook of her neck and he kisses her, presses his lips against the warm, pulsing skin at the base of her throat. He doesn't want to question why, why his best friend is letting him make her writhe in the front seat of his mom's car. But Pam doesn't stop him. She leans her head back and swivels so one leg is on either side of Jim's body, and Jim reaches under the seat to engage the lever and push his seat back as far as it will go, giving them more room.

"Jim…," she whimpers, kissing him again, "…Jim."

She's got her dress hiked up around her waist; Jim makes short work of his belt and Pam helps him unzip the front of his pants. With a little effort, they work his waistband down, and Pam fumbles to remove her panties. When it's done, she's sitting down on his thighs and completely out of breath, and Jim thinks she is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Scooping hair behind her ear, she looks across at Jim.

He smiles and kisses her. He can feel her lips curling too. She finds the condom on the seat next to her, hands it to him; the wrapper crinkles loudly, and Jim can smell the acrid scent of latex the moment he unrolls the condom onto himself. Pam is still smiling, and she grabs the handle above Jim's door for leverage – Jim helps her by putting his hands on her hips and lifting her a little – then positions herself so the tip of his erection is nudging at her opening.

She shivers. "I've never… ."

"It's okay."

She nods and lowers herself onto him, slowly, gasping as he fills her completely. He grips himself at the base, guiding it in, and soon her pelvis is pressing against his and he can feel her warmth and how wet she is and his eyes roll back in his head. Pam lets out a short, explosive moan, then lifts herself up again. She drops her head, crushing his mouth against hers in a kiss so passionate Jim feels his balls tighten and wonders if he could come right then and there. She swirls her tongue around in his mouth, licking him just behind his teeth. He moans.

She breaks apart, moving her hips faster now, and Jim hangs onto her hips. His hands brush over the smudges on her pale yellow dress, and the bottom of his stomach drops out as he remembers Roy. Pam looks down at his hands, sees what he sees, and quickly looks back into his eyes.

"Forget it Jim," she grinds into him and he groans, "Forget it… ."

_What's happening… ._

"I just want…," she's breathless; her hips swivel around and Jim pants for air, she's bringing him so close to climax. "I _need _to feel something…," her voice rises in pitch, "… something other than _him…_," she keeps talking, even though Jim doesn't want to hear it, and her voice is increasingly raspy and thick, "…other than _his_ hands, and _his_ fingers…," and now Jim wonders if it's him or Roy she's getting off on. "…Oh _God_! Jim!"

He watches as her stomach tightens and he can feel her squeezing him deep within her as she convulses, and before he knows it, he's coming too. She sinks down, drapes her arm over the headrest, and Jim puts his arms around her, holding her to his chest. _Now I'm definitely not getting my deposit back on this suit… ._

Pam is crying. He cranes his neck to look down at her, but she swipes at her eyes and sits up, lifting her leg and pulling herself off of him. He groans, the sensation is so strong and he's so raw. She puts on her panties, which are swinging around her ankle, and straightens her dress, as tears fall down her cheeks.

"I-I'm sorry," she says.

"For what?" he asks, still out of breath.

She looks at him with sad eyes and smiles, but it's fake, like the sentiment in the banquet hall, and Jim despairs. She kisses him, frowning as she pulls away.

"I was wrong to do this," she admits.

"Why 'wrong'?"

She just shakes her head and pauses for a moment before leaping out of the car. It's started to rain again. He watches her run up to the house still rearranging her dress; he wonders what to do with the condom, and ends up throwing it out in a McDonald's parking lot garbage bin down the street.

It was his name on her lips as she came, he thought, but on Monday morning, it was Roy's arm around her shoulder in the hallway.

And Jim began applying for late admission to out-of-state colleges Monday afternoon.


	5. At O'Byrne's Pub

**A/N: Takes place sometime during what could have been Jim and Pam's senior year at college. I put them both at Penn State just because I could, and made them major/minor in subjects that sounded vaguely like ones they might actually choose if they were college students. Totally A/U but what fun, anyway! :)**

* * *

Jim takes his social cues from those around him. He isn't a willing leader, although when called upon he rises to the challenge and usually does very well for himself. For the most part, Jim fits in because he observes, he notices, he adapts.

This is why, at 7:30 on a Saturday night, he is leaning up on one arm in his narrow single bed in the small dorm room he alone occupies, unable to bring himself to wake the sleeping beauty next to him. She is content, and even though they are meeting friends for drinks in an hour, he can't bring himself to rouse her because her contentedness is first and foremost, and at the moment is his entire social reality. He tells himself it would be the same no matter who it was snuggled against his body; but he knows that his motives are partly driven by his secondary desire to squeeze as much time together with her as he possibly can.

She's facing him, lying on her side, wearing a pair of faded denim jeans and a worn varsity sweatshirt he bought for her in freshman year. He knows he has to wake her. But when she sighs in her sleep – there's that _contentedness_ again – his heart melts and he silently promises five more minutes.

He wants to kiss her to wake her, but he knows he can't. It breaks his heart that she can't be his. It is another reason he has for not wanting to rouse her. When she's asleep and he's awake next to her – the way they've done it so often, in his dorm room or hers, sharing their space intimately without intimacy – he can pretend that the circumstances are different. Waking her forces reality back, breaks that spell, and he doesn't want that. He never has.

But he does it, wakes her. He takes his fingers and gently brushes the hair off her face. She frowns and stirs a little at his touch, and he lightens the pressure of his fingertips as he pulls his hand away from her hair and down the line of her jaw. Her eyes open, languid and slow.

"What time is it?" she asks, her voice the texture of cotton candy. She yawns.

"Almost a quarter to eight," he replies.

"Why didn't you wake me?" she groans as she stretches now, the sounds escaping her throat sounding more like growls than anything and Jim forces himself to think of something, _anything_, to get his mind off of how sexy it is, what she's doing. Then she smiles at him. "You weren't doing that creepy watching thing again, were you?"

Jim sighs and smiles. "Come on, Pam. Let's go."

--

"I wish I'd taken Bracken's course on ethics," Mark says, eyeing Jim and Pam on the other side of the table. "Epistemology blows."

"I don't know if it does or not!" is Pam's exclamation. "I don't even know how to pronounce it!"

She tries, and they all laugh. Jim files it away in his memory, one more thing Pam has done that is so impossibly adorable he can't believe it's happened. He wishes there was a camera around to catch it, to catch everything. He has to settle for memories.

"Whatever," Mark's girlfriend remarks, "It's all bullshitting anyway, right?"

Jim raises his glass and looks over at Pam, "That's the spirit. When in doubt, bullshit."

A chorus of "Here Here" resounds from their table as the four of them make their toast to bullshit and slam back their drinks.

"So where's Roy?" Mark asks suddenly, even though he should know better. His words drop to the table along with his pint glass, and he shoots a look at his friend as if to say 'I'm sorry' almost as quickly as the words flew out. Jim feels his stomach turn; he had managed to make it well into the day without reminding himself that the only reason Pam had been able to spend so much time with him was because her boyfriend was away with the football team on a road trip. He rolls his eyes at Mark and takes another swig from his own pint.

Pam clears her throat, "The team's playing Northwestern this weekend," she announces calmly, though her face registers her discomfort at talking about her absent boyfriend.

_Maybe she didn't want to be reminded either_, Jim thinks, letting himself hope for a split second that she might be having doubts about Roy altogether. He looks back at the table and smiles, reading the crowd's mood and deciding a change of subject is in order. "I'm telling you, I'm still not looking forward to Monday's exam. I'm so much more comfortable bullshitting about the psychology of advertising than I am about justified true belief!"

Mark breaths a sigh of relief, and Pam's shoulders relax. _Crisis averted_, Jim thinks as his eyes lift to the door of O'Byrne's Pub... and he sees the Lions D-Line come walking into the room.

Pam doesn't see them right away. "I totally know what you mean. If I could blab on about the aesthetic qualities of abstract expressionism compared to French impressionism, I'd be a much happier student!" she remarks. She notices that Jim isn't listening, follows his gaze to the door. Her voice drops and Jim is certain he feels a vacuum as she inhales sharply.

Roy spots them, makes his way over to the table. He smiles as he approaches. "What's this, Halpert? Making a move on my girl while I'm away?"

"Why are you back so soon?" Pam asks. It does little to break the tension.

"Some wussies on Special Teams wanted Sunday to study for midterms," Roy says to Pam, never taking his eyes off of Jim. "What are you doing here?"

Jim isn't sure if the comment is directed at him or Pam. He opens his mouth but Pam replies, "We were studying and wanted a break. Roy, you remember Mark and his girlfriend?"

Roy nods; his eyes are still on Jim. Jim clears his throat, "Wanna join us?" he asks.

"No thanks, man," Roy smiles, "I thought I'd take Pammy out to a movie or something to celebrate me gettin' back so early."

Pam takes another drink from her Coke glass, "I'd rather stay here. Why don't you pull up a chair?"

Roy makes a face and shakes his head. "Nah, let's get out of here." He finally breaks his gaze with Jim and walks around to Pam's stool. He throws his arm around her shoulder and kisses her on the cheek, then again on the lips. She attempts to push him away both times.

"Roy, careful!" she says, holding onto the table to keep it from wobbling, "You're gonna spill Jim's drink."

Roy eyes Pam, then the table, then Jim, then looks back at Pam. "Yeah, let's not get pretty boy's suit all dirty, eh?"

Jim isn't wearing a suit. He doesn't even own one. He knows Roy is jealous of Jim's education and potential for a career once he graduates; he knows Roy is more than a little bit insecure about Pam spending so much time with him. He probably also knows that, if Jim did own a suit, he would look much better in it than Roy would. The thought makes Jim smile.

"Roy." Pam's voice has a soft, pleading edge to it that brings Jim out of his head and back to the dimly lit room.

"No, I'm serious," he says, turning back to Jim, "We wouldn't want our big shot executive here to call his lawyers on us, would we?"

Jim shakes his head and finally turns to face Roy, "Is this really necessary, Roy?"

"I don't know, Halpert," he says. "You tell me?"

They stare at each other for a while. Mark is quiet and his girlfriend has excused herself to the ladies room. Pam flushes red with embarrassment as heads around them turn to watch the scene that is sure to unfold. Two of Roy's team mates – both defensive tackles, Jim recognizes them from their profile in the student newspaper – hustle up behind Roy and tell him to back down and not cause a scene, remember our agreement with Coach about no fighting, let's go grab a beer somewhere else man. Jim sneers – inwardly, of course; he doesn't have a death wish – and takes another pull from his mug.

"No guys," Roy shrugs off their warnings, putting his hand on Pam's lap. "I'm here for a date with my girlfriend. No. Big. Deal."

He makes a move to pull Pam's chair out from the table. Pam crosses her arms across her chest, obscuring the Penn State logo emblazoned across the front. "I don't want to go. I made plans and I'm keeping them. We can go out later this week, okay?"

Roy looks down at her, not expecting her response. He looks as if he's ready to explode, but can't decide which person is most deserving of his wrath, or how exactly it will take shape. He takes a step back. "What are you saying, Pam?"

Pam shrinks against the small, round table, as if willing herself to become part of the tabletop itself, she is so embarrassed. Jim feels his hands ball into fists at his side as she swivels again on his seat to face Roy.

"She said she wants to stay here," he intones. "Is that going to be a problem?"

Jim knows he's got about six inches on the two guys standing behind Roy, but he's also well aware that they outweigh him by about four times, at least. Still, he watches as they try once again to pull Roy away from the table. He may not respect athletes like Roy very much, but he's grateful that at least his two friends have the sense to try and stop this even if Jim can't.

Jim can see the vein in Roy's neck pulsate as he considers his options. His eyes blaze and his own fists are pumping as they hang at his sides. He turns back to look at Pam. "You're choosing this guy over me?"

"I'm not choosing anyone," Pam says, her voice small. "I just want to have a drink. Jim said you could join us."

Jim interrupts, "I think that invitation expired." His gaze is levelled at Roy, and he can't believe how ballsy he's being.

Roy laughs and Jim fears that he's going to take a swing. He doesn't. He rocks a little on his feet, then turns back to Pam, spitting, "We're done, Beesly. I'm not taking this crap from you anymore."

When he turns back to Jim, he points a dirty, knobby finger in his face, starts to say something, then runs his hand through his hair before storming out of the bar. They – the whole bar – can hear him yelling outside. Then people slowly get back to their drinks, casting furtive glances at the table at the centre of the show.

Pam shakes a little, steadying herself by sitting on her hands. Mark tries to comfort her and she smiles a little but it's faint, so faint Mark gives up, thinking he's not helping any. Really, she's waiting for _him_ to notice her. But he's too keyed up to do anything but chew on his lip and stare into the amber liquid in his glass and she finally excuses herself and goes to the bathroom, tears brimming against her lower lashes. Mark's girlfriend is on her way back to the table when she sees Pam, but she goes back to the bathroom with her arm around Pam's crying, quivering shoulders the minute they meet each other. Jim looks up just in time to see that she is gone.

"Shit!" he mutters, kicking himself for not doing anything sooner.

Jim is good at reading social cues. You might even call him a natural. But he missed a big one at O'Byrne's Pub, when Pam wanted nothing more than Jim's shoulder to lean on and he'd fumbled the ball.

_A/N: I just want to clarify -- I haven't written this chapter as a continuation of the last one; really, none of these chapters are meant to connect to one another in the way chapters in other stories build a narrative. They're totally separate, almost like individual stories anthologized as chapters in a larger work, or like membranes in a multiverse (for those of you theoretical physicists out there!). This means that events that happened in previous chapters have not necessarily taken place in the past of the current chapter._

_Of course, it doesn't mean that it __**didn't**__ happen, or __**couldn't have**__ happened, and if you have been reading them as if they are connected and filling in the blanks yourself, that's totally cool. But if it was confusing you, I hope that clears it up!_


	6. In the Chapel

**A/N: Okay, a little less "Jim to the Rescue", but he still sticks up for her... sort of... just had this idea in my head, and had to get it out. Be kind!! :)**

* * *

Jim thinks he might have a mean masochistic streak as paces in the back of the church, next to the door marked "Bridal Suite". He finds the terminology amusing – it conjures up images of champagne and strawberries and silk bedsheets and his and hers bathrobes – even though he knows it's just a fancy way for the church to label the room where the bride and her attendants get ready for The Walk and The Ceremony and The Big Day. Thinking about it, Jim puts a hand to his stomach, trying to quell his own nausea.

_Why did I agree to do this? Oh right. Masochist. Check_. His head throbs.

She's been in there for about fifteen minutes already, which means that the ceremony has been delayed fifteen minutes because he had been sent down to find her as they were preparing to start, and that was fifteen minutes ago. Jim knows because he keeps checking his watch; it's the ticking that keeps him sane.

When he arrived at the door, she had locked herself inside. Her two bridesmaids and the mother of the flower girl were standing there in their gowns, rapping softly in the hopes they'd be let in. When the door finally opened, they scurried in but barred Jim – maybe for good reason – saying they would handle things. And that was nine minutes ago. 

_So much for handling things_.

He hears crying behind the thin white door, and can't stand the thought that they're her tears being wept. He paces again, shaking his head, and walks right into Michael who is standing in the doorway to the anteroom.

"What's the hold up? Where is she?" he wears a smile on his face but it's thin, "There are only so many more jokes I can tell."

Jim sighs, "She's in there. I don't know what's going on."

Michael sighs and lets his shoulders drop as Dwight walks in. "What sort of problem is she having?" Dwight demands.

"Not now, Dwight," Jim's voice is flat.

But Dwight is already knocking at the door. "There's nothing you can do in there. You have to come out and face it. Hiding won't solve anything." He looks back at Jim and Michael with a shrug. "Tough love."

For the first time since they've been working together, Michael catches on to Jim's harried look and quickly ushers Dwight out of the anteroom. It's a surprise to Jim, and he allows himself a small smile.

The door to the suite opens, and the two lavendered bridesmaids – one pal from who-knows-where, and one soon-to-be sister-in-law, because the bride doesn't have many friends on whom she could rely for this day – and the prim mother of the flower girl step out.

"She won't listen to us," one says.

"She wants her maid of honour instead," the second shoots back, a note of derision in her voice.

Suddenly three sets of eyes are on Jim. He adjusts his tie and sidesteps between the women and straight into the Bridal Suite, rustling the fabric of their dresses as his leg brushes the cascading tulle.

He sees her sitting in the plush white armchair, next to the overstuffed white sofa, beside the crisp white table with the gilt mirror and a vase of white and purple lilies on top. Her auburn hair is half up, half down, but wavy and not curly, which is the only difference between today and work. She looks defeated, hanky in hand – even that is white, embroidered with purple – as she dabs at the corner of her eye and looks up at him. But Jim still thinks she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

His voice is soft as he speaks her name, more of a question than a simple statement. "Pam?"

He closes the door and stands with his hand on the knob and his back pressed against the wood. It's silent for a moment, until she rises to her feet, dainty white flats tapping softly on linoleum, and crosses the room.

"Jim," she says. He opens his arms and lets her in, resting his head on hers.

"It's okay," he strokes her hair, careful not to knock any of the pins loose. It's killing him to have to be there like _this_, as Pam's "Man of Honour", instead of where he really _wants _to be… standing at the end of the aisle… waiting for her to walk towards him.

_Why did I agree to this?_

But then Pam sobs again and Jim remembers. He loves her so much, he wants her to be happy, and he really didn't have a good reason to go out of town on June 10th after all. He couldn't bring himself to tell her what he wanted to say the night of the casino in the warehouse, when they'd stood in a pool of light from the parking lot lamps and he'd seen the goosebumps on her arms and wanted to hold her to keep her warm. Then he was in mid-breath, ready to tell her that he was in love with her, but she had beaten him to the punch, asking him to be an Honor Attendant at the wedding instead. It had seemed so cruel at the time, but he'd swallowed the words at the back of his throat and said yes and it was done, just like that. He couldn't back out.

It was hard, but he had somewhat reconciled his position in her life with the position he _wanted _to hold. He has to be her friend now. Her best friend. Nothing more, no matter how much it hurts. And it hurts so much he can feel it in his toes and in the ends of his hair and he's sure that if he keeps thinking about how good it feels to have Pam in his arms, to feel how well she just _fits_, huddled against his chest with her arms wrapped under his and her palms flat against his back… well, he's pretty sure he'd break his brain, and he can't imagine that that would feel any better. So he pushes the thoughts aside and tilts his head down to look at her.

"Hey Beesly," he whispers, and his index finger catches her chin and then she's looking into his eyes and he just wants to _die_ but he smiles, "What's goin' on?"

"I-I… Jim, I… ."

He waits. He would wait forever. _Screw the congregation. They've waited years for these two to get hitched, what's another twenty minutes?_ _And screw Roy, while we're at it_, Jim thinks. He doesn't hate Roy. Strongly dislikes, but doesn't hate; if Jim were Roy, he wouldn't give up on Pam either. But he still wishes the man would disappear or run off and join the army or something. Or at least that Pam would see for once that whatever Roy used to be to her, he's not anymore, but Jim could be all that and a million times better and… .

"I can't marry him, Jim."

Jim's train of thought derails in mid-sentence. Pam's eyes are downcast and Jim lets go of her a fraction of a foot to try and look at her.

"What did you say?"

She looks up, eyes freshly watered. "I can't marry Roy. And it's not cold feet, Jim. I don't think I love him anymore… ."

Jim hardly hears the words she's speaking and he strains to catch up. "Pam?"

She shakes her head, "I mean, I think you should _know_ if you love the person you're marrying, shouldn't you? If you can't even tell _that _much, you shouldn't get married, right? That's what they kept telling us at those pre-marriage counseling sessions, anyway."

He just stares at her, the woman he's loved for more years than he cares to remember, standing in front of him, on the verge of making his dreams reality. He doesn't know what to do, so he just stares.

"The thing is, no one will listen to me! They say I have to marry him because of all the money and the food and Roy will be just heartbroken!" she scowls, "I never should have asked his sister to be my bridesmaid!" And then she starts to cry again, "And that's just it! Roy wants this, all of this. I don't anymore. And I've known for such a long time but I'm so stupid to wait until the day of the wedding to call off the engagement and… ."

Jim puts his hands on her shoulders; they're cold, and he can see those same tiny goosebumps on her arms. "You're not stupid."

"Yes I am."

"No, you're not."

"Then what am I?"

"Confused…," Jim starts.

Pam laughs and presses her fingers into the corners of her eyes, "That's a good one… ."

"…Scared… ."

She nods a little.

"…Beautiful."

She looks up at him. Jim feels his face redden, but he's come this far.

"You want my opinion, Pam?" he asks her. "If you can't marry Roy, then don't marry Roy."

_How's that for self-serving?_ Jim asks, fighting to remind himself that she brought it up. _Am I supposed to make her marry someone she doesn't love? It's not like she wants to marry me… ._

She smiles faintly, looking down at her hands. "Then you go and say something like that…," she looks up at him. "Jim, I have to be honest with you."

"Shoot." His knees are trembling; he wishes he could sit down.

But she doesn't speak. She takes his hands in hers and traces circles on his skin with her thumb. It doesn't make his condition any easier to deal with.

"You're such a wonderful friend, Jim," she breathes, "And your friendship means the world to me, you know that… ."

He nods. His mouth is dry.

"I know I'm putting you on the spot. I asked you here to be my second, you know? You're supposed to make sure today goes well for me, and it can't be easy when I'm standing here telling you that it won't be going at all," she laughs, "And I was going to ask you to tell everyone… ."

"I will, of course I will." The words tumble out in one long, jumbled string and he wonders if she understands him. She does, and she smiles.

"No, Jim… you're going to hate me for doing this. You'll think I'm a horrible person."

"How can I possibly think that?"

"Trust me," her voice is heavy but her eyes twinkle and Jim likes that. "I had this fantasy, Jim. About today. I dreamed up that the pastor would get to the part where he says 'Speak now or forever hold your peace'… you know, right?... and no one stood up. I wanted someone to stand up and end this for me because I just _couldn't_, and no one stood up," her voice cracks at the memory. "But then… oh God, you're going to hate me… but then you put up your hand and said 'But I love her, too' and everyone gasped and we walked out of the chapel together," she smiled meekly, her face as red as one of Dwight's beets. "It's stupid, isn't it? But when I dreamed that up, I realized I had asked you to be my Man of Honour in order for that to happen. I realized I couldn't marry Roy."

Jim shakes his head, disbelieving. "It's not stupid."

"That's all you can say?" She isn't mad; she just makes the statement.

Jim smiles, but says nothing. He licks his lips, looks down at his hands and hers, clasped between them. When he looks up at her, she is expectant.

"Jim…," she starts, "God, I just told my best friend in the whole world that I'd rather marry him than my fiancé! Say something!"

And Jim continues to smile, even as he speaks. "I'll deal with the attendants listening in on the other side of the door. You need to talk to Roy."

Her face drops, but Jim laughs and squeezes her hands.

"I'll be here when it's over."

There are fresh tears in her eyes. She lets herself smile a little, just a little. "You always are," she says. She takes a deep breath, and Jim brings her hands up to his lips and actually _kisses _them. Twice. He catches her eye, silently tells her not to worry about a thing. Then he turns around and walks through the door.

"So?"

"What's the verdict?"

"Let's get going!"

"She's not getting married today."

They stare at him, open-mouthed.

"But…!"

"No. It's not about you. It's about them. They're going to talk. Not us."

"What did you say to her?" Roy's sister asks accusingly.

"Nothing that shouldn't have been said years ago…," he says, barely audibly, as he walks out of the room. He passes Roy on the steps, tells him that Pam needs to see him. From the look in Roy's eyes, Jim knows that he knows, and he puts a hand on Roy's shoulder as he passes. He feels for him; he's going to lose a great girl. But he doesn't get too torn up about it. As he exits the church through a side door, he waits. He hopes. He prays – maybe he should be doing that inside? He was never very good at being religious.

_Maybe she'll change her mind. Maybe they'll go through with it. Maybe… ._

He paces back and forth, underneath a flowering tree that smells so nice and he can't remember what it's called, even though Pam told him a million times because it's one of her favourites. _Maybe that's why she picked this church_… .

He can't keep thinking about it. He's driving himself mad just thinking about her and the wedding and the church and he blames himself, and… .

He sees her walking down the front steps of the church. Roy walks beside her. They hug. Roy walks off, head down, towards the parking lot across the street, where Jim can see him getting into the passenger seat of a black SUV. She watches him walk away, and Jim watches her in profile, waiting for her to turn and see him. When she does, she smiles, bows her head a little as she lifts up the hem of her dress and starts walking over the grass. Jim shoves his hands in his pockets, leans a little to one side. When she gets closer, Jim has to squint; the sun is getting lower on the horizon, and Pam is shining like silver.

"So?"

"So."

They don't have to say anything. The guests disperse; Pam doesn't want to talk to anyone right now. Jim feels a little awkward taking her hand, but it feels so warm and she's so willing that the feeling fades. They walk around the church; Pam takes off her shoes and walks barefoot through the grass. Jim thinks that, no, _now _she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

They don't talk much. Jim watches until the guests have left and Pam says goodbye to her family. He drives her around. They listen to music. Jim buys ice cream and as the sun finally sets they find a picturesque spot to eat their cones and watch as the sky is painted in the most vivid colours Jim has ever seen. Pam spills some chocolate on her dress; for the first time in a long time, Jim hears her laugh out loud. He wishes he could capture it and save it for when he needs to hear it again.

Roy is staying at a hotel that night, so Pam goes home. Jim drives her there. They sit in his car for a while. It's hard to comprehend what's just happened. Finally, Pam swiveled, her dress shushing against the seat, and steps out onto the cool pavement.

"It's been a trip, Halpert." Her voice is the loudest thing he's heard in a good while, but it's still whisper soft as the wind that's making the tree leaves outside his window rustle in the dark.

"You said it."

She is plaintive, thoughtful, as she leans on the window and peers into the darkness of his car. "I can't believe this is how the night of June 10th went down in the life of Pamela Beesly."

"Yup."

She fiddles with the ring on her finger, and he knows she's thinking about it.

"Well… good night Jim."

"Night Pam."

He waits and makes sure she gets in, and he thinks it is so surreal watching her amble up the driveway in her wedding dress. As he drives off, her wonders about the future and what it means that Pam has called off his wedding for him.

_For me_, he thinks. _What just happened here?_

He drives off into the night, the smell of her perfume lingering in the car. He rolls up the windows in case it should escape. He wants to hold on for as long as he can to the night when everything, finally, started going right.


	7. In Their Bedroom

**A/N: Total fluff. All of it. Just because I can! :P Hope you enjoy it! And sorry about the delay!!**

* * *

Jim knew it would rain all day, because it always rains on his birthday. When he sees the storm clouds rolling in above the houses across the street, he frowns in their general direction even though he's expected them all day. He's been sitting on the porch for about an hour, drinking coffee and trying to solve the Sudoku puzzle in the newspaper, almost successfully ignoring the sounds of construction crews repairing the asphalt on the corner after a water main break the week before. But already, he can feel the humidity rising, and sees it wilting the edges of the newspaper, and it makes him a little sad that it'll be another year before they can afford to build a proper overhang for the porch. Instead of feeling bummed about it, Jim resolves to go down to the Starbucks a few minutes away. It seems like a good enough compromise. Besides, it's his birthday, and with no big plans to celebrate, a nice big latte sounds divine. It won't drive the rain away but at least it will taste great.

He steps inside, tossing the paper onto the table near the door and grabbing his car keys. "Honey, do you want anything from Starbucks?"

"Chai latte, extra sweet," comes the sing-song reply floating down the hallway.

He shouldn't have to ask, he knows her order by now; but he wants to make sure every time in case she wants something different.

Driving back from Starbucks, Jim watches as the clouds chase him. He races into the house, carrying two venti drinks in his hands. As he finally reaches the front step, he can see the dust and dirt kicked up by construction crew being wetted down by the misty rain that has begun to fall. The drops make short work of the dust plumes; in seconds, the air no longer looks sepia-toned from the dirt which has been suspended there since the work began. There's a clarity that makes Jim's eyes hurt, like he's looking at his front street through a too brightly illuminated magnifying glass even though it is as gray and overcast as it could be. He hurries inside and deposits the drinks on the same table as the now-finished Sudoku. _She's good_, he thinks as he pads down the hallway to where he knows she'll be.

Sure enough, there she is, curled up on her side, half asleep. She's wearing a pair of white linen pants and a blue tank top, no bra, very summery. The window is open and the breeze coming in is cold; he doesn't understand how she could even be close to sleep in such conditions, so he moves to close the window.

"No, honey, don't. I like to hear the rain," she reaches out absently, trying to grab his hand. "Just grab a blanket and come here with us."

He grins and puts her chai on the bedside table next to her before pressing his lips to her temple and then unfolding a quilt from the rocking chair in the corner. "Yes ma'am, Pam."

Pam smiles and closes her eyes again, settling into the pillows. As Jim joins her, he is careful not to wake the sleeping child nestled against Pam's chest. Still, his weight shifts the mattress and the boy stirs, cooing in his sleep and settling back again into his toddler dreams.

"I thought we were going to try and stop him from napping in the afternoon," Jim's voice is barely above a whisper.

Pam just smiles and shrugs, "I guess it's nice to pretend he's still little."

"He _is _little."

"You know what I mean."

Jim does. He smiles and reaches over to stroke his wife's hand. The boy between them stirs again; Jim wonders if he's replaying their trip to the park that morning in his head, when a friendly dog had come up to them and started to play and at first Jude had been frightened, too frightened to move, but eventually he and the dog called Biscuit were the best of friends. The whole way home, the two-year-old on Jim's shoulders couldn't stop talking about "da biiiig doggie", carrying on quite the conversation despite his limited vocabulary. The more the boy fidgets now, the more Jim is convinced that in his dreams, Jude is still playing catch with a border collie.

Jim is staring at Pam, who is staring at their beautiful baby boy, and neither of them expects it and are shocked into furious fits of laughter as soon as Jude levels a swift, dreamy, totally unintentional kick into his mother's thigh. Pam can't tell whether she should laugh or cry, so she does a little of both. Jim marvels at his son's future soccer abilities before gently scolding the sleeping boy.

"You're such a bully," he whispers with a laugh, "Stop beating up mommy!"

Pam laughs and rubs her thigh, unable to get even remotely mad at her little boy.

Jim leans up on his elbow. "Do you remember when you were pregnant with him, how much he used to kick and move around?"

Pam rolls her eyes, "How could I forget? Jim, I lived through it!"

Jim's eyes widen, "What, and I didn't? Come on, Pam, how many times did you get me up in the middle of the night because he wouldn't let you sleep and you didn't want to be awake all alone?"

Pam pouts and Jim knows that she knows it's his weakness, that face. "He is just a little bully," Pam says, "You should see him when you're at work! He throws his food, his toys, he kicks and runs around like a maniac!" she's grinning now, "I know, psychological warfare. He takes after his daddy."

Jim smirks, "Wait a sec, let me call the Times. I can see the headline now," he runs his hand in front of him, simulating the headline. "'Mom beat up by toddler; Blames father's genetic contribution'. Compelling, Beesly."

Pam is still grinning, "Genetic contribution?" she laughs, "Only you can make the act of conception sound so dull."

"Obviously we need to invite Dwight over more often if you think _my_ sex talk is dull," Jim says.

"You hear Dwight's sex talk a lot?"

Jim shakes his head, tsks a little, and finally stands up beside the bed, "I'm going to move him to his own bed."

"You'll wake him."

"Then I'll sing him back to sleep."

Pam stares back, wide-eyed. "You want to give the kid nightmares?"

He scoops the child up in his arms and narrows his eyes at Pam, "You can be replaced, you know."

Her voice is like honey as it pours from her mouth, and she leans back against the pillows again, still clutching her leg. "You love me too much."

Jim nods and slowly manoeuvres out of the master bedroom and across the hall to the little boy's new room. Cradling Jude in his arms, Jim pulls back the covers and then sets his son down with his head on the pillow, then carefully works his legs under the comforter before drawing it up to his chin. He knows it's too early for bed and too late for a nap, and he knows that real bedtime will be a hassle. But he's on holiday so it's worth it to see Jude sleeping so peacefully.

As he's about to walk away, he hears a tiny voice behind him. Jude is half-awake, rubbing his eyes, "Daddy?"

Jim returns to sit on the edge of the bed, "I'm here."

"Sing."

Jim laughs quietly, "I don't know… ."

"I hearded Mommy say you were gonna sing."

"You hearded Mommy, did you?" Jim asks, "Well now, Mommy doesn't lie, does she?"

Jude shakes his head.

"All right then, you asked for it," Jim says, "What song do you want to hear?"

"My song."

Jim nods and cracks his fingers, "Your song, okay…," he takes a deep breath, "You ready?"

The boy half laughs and Jim smiles, then launches into a whispered version of "Hey Jude", the song Pam and Jim danced to at their wedding and which inspired the name of their firstborn because it was the only song that could get him to stop moving around if they played it through headphones around Pam's swollen belly. Jim is no Paul McCartney, but he performs admirably; by the time he's singing the second verse, Jude's eyes are slits on his round face. Within a moment, the boy is asleep, and Jim is kissing him on the forehead before going back to join Pam in bed.

"I heard you," Pam whispers as Jim crawls in next to her. "Hearded you, rather."

"Did you now?"

"I did."

"What did you think?"

She frowns, "Eh… I wouldn't quit my day job if I were you."

Jim goes into fake shock and mimes being stabbed in the chest. Pam laughs and kisses him, "I love you."

"I love you too."

"Thanks for the chai."

"You're welcome."

"And for saving me from our bully of a son."

"He's just a boy."

Pam has a mischievous look on her face. "Are you saying if he were a girl, he wouldn't do that?"

Jim shrugs, "I don't know many baby girls with whom we could compare violent tendencies."

"Hm," Pam is thoughtful. She takes his hand and interlocks their fingers. "What if we… oh, I don't know… somehow managed to find a baby girl?"

"Then it might be a different story."

"Well there's a fifty-fifty chance with each pregnancy," Pam looks down at their hands, "And I mean… if you took us for example… we already have one boy, so aren't the odds kind of in our favour if we wanted a little girl?"

"I think you missed the stats and probabilities math class, didn't you?" Jim smirks, squeezing her hand, "But it's worth a shot, isn't it?" He leans in and kisses her on the throat, exactly where he knows she likes to be kissed. Her body arches towards his at first, and he wraps his strong arms around her body and pulls her closer; but she giggles, pushing him away.

With a nod, her smile grows. "Nah, we don't need to."

Jim frowns, "Why not?"

"Well you can't get pregnant if you're already pregnant, right?" Pam winks at him, "Or did you miss the sex ed class in high school?"

Jim's eyes widen quickly, and Pam continues to grin. "Happy Birthday, Jim. Welcome to fatherhood, part two."

Jim just smiles and kisses her plumped lips while his hands roam Pam's body, stopping on her stomach. Another baby. Another nine months of planning and coddling and picking out the perfect song to play through Jim's headphones and which could, perhaps, inspire their child's name. Jim smiles at the thought, and kisses Pam again.

Maybe they won't build the overhang next year, Jim thinks. But when he actually stops and listens, over the sound of Pam's breathing and the music to "Hey Jude" playing in his head, he realizes that maybe the rain isn't so bad after all.


End file.
